The letter was unsigned, typewritten, and on plain paper. But Garrison
knew whom it was from. It was the eminent lawyer's way not to place
damaging evidence in the hands of a prospective enemy.

"This means blackmail," commented Garrison, carefully replacing the
letter in its envelope. "And it serves me right. I wonder do I look
silly. I must; for people take me for a fool."



CHAPTER VIII.

THE COLONEL'S CONFESSION.

Garrison did not sleep that night. His position was clearly credited
and debited in the ledger of life. He saw it; saw that the balance was
against him. He must go--but he could not, would not. He decided to take
the cowardly, half-way measure. He had not the courage for renunciation.
He would stay until this pot of contumacious fact came to the boil,
overflowed, and scalded him out.

He was not afraid of the eminent Mr. Snark. Possession is in
reality ten-tenths of the law. The lawyer had cleverly proven
his--Garrison's--claim. He would be still more clever if he could
disprove it. A lie can never be branded truth by a liar. How could
he disprove it? How could his shoddy word weigh against Garrison's,
fashioned from the whole cloth and with loyalty, love on Garrison's
side?

No, the letter was only a bluff. Snark would not run the risk of